Golden Boy

DOWNTOWN ALBANY WAS AS BUSY AS usual that blustery January day last year, with no place to park on the street. My husband, Mike, pulled into the underground garage of the state office complex, 40 city blocks of concrete buildings and four office towers connected by tunnels and a windowless concourse. “You good?” he asked.

I wasn’t good. My heart was pounding. But I said, “Sure.” Sweaty palms, a knot in my stomach. We were six floors underground, and the cold concrete walls were already closing in on me. Our golden retriever, Ernest, tossed his shaggy head and wagged his tail in excitement. Easy for you, buddy.

We were here for Ernest to do his job as a therapy dog, providing stress relief to employees at